You're moving where?

It's been a while since I last wrote.

In fact, looking at blogger I see there were several posts that I never published. I'm not sure why. So you must forgive my complete lack of writing mojo, it's something you have to do often to let it flow easily. This isn't going to flow easily.

But I do need to write because I keep getting asked the whys and whats of "you're moving where?".

Several weeks ago I wrote to my landlord's agents to ask what the scores were about continuing in Epping Upland. They were fine, no changes, I'd move to a rolling agreement with just a month notice and I could start thinking about doing boring things like repairing the skirting board and perhaps a little light redecoration. It wasn't ideal, for many reasons, but I was relatively settled.

And then...

Well then missy decided that she, quite rightly, would like to fund a more permanent place in Croatia. It had to happen sooner or later and meant that I could think about somewhere that didn't have the issues which came with the place. Namely... traffic noise, no easy way to get to the pub in the next village and a lack of community in winter. It wasn't too bad in summer, but winter... Well winter was rubbish and fairly lonely.

Don't get me wrong, I knew it would be like this, but I wasn't getting to see anyone.

So I started looking, something big enough for one but not shoebox, something affordable, something with a community. A veritable Kinder egg of the accommodation world. Yeah, right.

Affordable for one meant nowhere nearer than a stupid distance to London, which meant that any savings I might make on the accommodation would be utterly broken by the travel budget. And as I'd already learned community is something impossible to measure unless you've spent time somewhere.

I even looked at a few places along the south coast and was left with that sinking feeling of being a parody of Waiting for God without a Tom as a foil to my inner Diana. I was definitely not ready for that.

Which brings us to Sark... I'd been fortunate enough to visit the island in February during a gale force 8-9 storm with hellish rain. And I loved it. There was most definitely a community spirit. I had more conversations with people in a simple walk than I ever did in weeks in Epping Upland or even Epping. And definitely not in the two years I lived by Limehouse Marina. Did you know that in those two years I could count the conversations I'd had with my neighbours on one hand. Three of those were with the same chap in number 88.

Great.

And then there is the UK. I'm fed up with it. I'm fed up with the rudeness and how selfish everyone is. And the endless anger. When did it become acceptable to have stand up rows in the street because people don't let you do your own thing in a world where everyone is centre stage. But also... brexit. A simple idea that has directly contributed to a rise in the unpleasant index of a once supportive country. When this all kicked off two years ago I had a very clear vision of what was to come, nothing has happened to show I was wrong. At the time I decided that I would get out, leave the UK, I just didn't know where and I knew that it would be potentially impossible to move to mainland Europe in the meantime. Okay so there was a point where it wasn't just a possibility but was the plan. But like people, plans die.

So a lovely place with friendly people, pubs and no cars or streetlights. Outside of the UK. It was sounding good.

Especially as I lay there at 5am listening to the beginnings of the constant drone of vehicles driving past the cottage that wouldn't abate for several hours before starting again in anger.

There was something else. As much as I theoretically lived in a bucolic idyll it was not ideal with the littlest offspring to visit as he couldn't just go wandering off exploring the lovely countryside without  crossing an incredibly busy B road with no footpath. It simply wasn't safe.

Food is available...

So what if he could visit? And those visits could be weeks at a time with him being able to go off, hang out with other kids and explore? The kind of thing I did growing up in the 70s. And on an island.

It sounded... perfect.

Okay there were problems. Getting there is a bit of a pain, but this is not unsolvable.

So with this in mind... I found a place and put in an offer.

It was accepted.

...and proper tea!

Since then things have fallen in to place and, incredibly, the dots of steps have been joined by tenuous lines. And those tenuous lines have become solid. So solid that as I write this my worldly goods are in a lorry heading to Portsmouth and I'm working wherever I can find a place to sit. I think the move has to be the subject of another blog about the realities of moving to an island. In the channel. With no cars.

It will be worth doing.

It will be exciting.

It will be an adventure.

First though I have to complete the move and paperwork. For now I'll leave you with the latest thing I've changed; The marker on Google maps for... home.

I arrive next Wednesday.

Surprises, love and laughter

Mama Mia, here I go again*. I'm writing in the sun. On an island, in a cafe by the sea. The locals are talking more than usually incomprehensibly, and I have had a couple of beers, which means I probably will be writing in dialect shortly. All that is missing is the other contrary one writing opposite me.

Going backwards; or up the creek without a paddle

There is something magical about canoeing; the gentle plap-plap over the waves, the swirl of the water under the paddles, and the light fizzing around like pop on a hot day. Leaning over to look in to the deep blue-turquoise water is as close to heaven as I can get. So this is why on Thursday after an obligatory trip to Pomena for some cash, I popped in to our local Little Heaven and asked for paddles. The sensible one had gone to get water and put her money in the apartment; mine would have just got saltily damp in the event of an emergency landing. My water would have just got wet.

More of that later.

So we had a vessel each (I don't do sharing), appropriate clothing, everything stowed in the wrong place (me), and were ready for launch. We shoved the first one into the water, then the other...luckily one had a leading rein so we could stop it making a bid for freedom. Being chivalrous, I assisted the careful one to clamber elegantly aboard, and off she went proudly displaying walking boots as figurehead. Astonishingly I got myself settled without mishap.

Although having my rucksack - containing phone and bottle of water - utterly out of reach was annoying.

Off we went, boldly striking out into the blue. There was no longer a gale blowing but the stiff breeze was still making paddling a challenge. My shoulders were pre-emptively groaning in anticipation of the next morning's physical effort. The athletic one was already miles away and heading for open sea; I was happy to let the wind guide me and I gently drifted to the other side of the lake. The goal was to get to Veliki Most and possibly to moor up for a swim.

The Big lake for the most part is more like canoeing on the open sea, though we had already noted that there was unlikely to be a contretemps between us and a high-speed catamaran. My 40-something birthday canoeing trip to Lopud for tea and a bun had obviously stayed in our memories... But this was a far more peaceful experience; paddle, stop, paddle, drift, stop, paddle, ooo swat wasp. I was getting a little thirsty but the bridge was coming into view.

I have wanted to paddle under the perfectly elegant bridge for a while. It marks the change from Big Lake into Solinski Kanal and the direction of water flowing underneath changes depending on the tide. In this case, we shot through without need for a paddle. You emerge into the calmest aquamarine pool of perfection - it is this colour simply because it's sandy underneath and not too deep. The long nosed fish which I have just failed to identify were happy to mill around beneath me.

The highlight of the trip was the flash of copper and deep iridescent blue...a busy kingfisher was taking advantage of the stillness and was catching his lunch. He flitted between the foliage and disappeared into the undergrowth. Stunning and a moment to cherish forever.

The moment of calm turned into something else as suddenly the wasps decided that they wanted to come canoeing too. Whether it was the warmth, lack of wind, or moisture on my skin, there was an increasing annoyance of them. And it got worse. I was following the speedy one to the channel's barrier and there looked to be a sensible spot to pull up and retrieve my water - which as you recall was inaccessible, stowed in the back of my vessel.

Never before have I had such a tussle of wasp v dehydration. I was in a swarm. I grabbed my water bottle, not caring if anything was re-waterproofed and leapt back in to the canoe in a complete cloud of the evil ones. Inevitably I was stung. Shaking, I paddled away as fast as possible, eager to escape back on to the water. It wasn't the most pleasant of experiences but it could have been worse.

We headed back through the channel and under the bridge. We waved to the people above us as they were the lovely couple who would be sharing a taxi to Sobra the following morning. As quickly as they appeared, the wasps ceased to trouble us - they must dislike the wide open deep water. We paddled back towards home, and hysterically disembarked. There was much slipping on the rocks, and a paddle splooshed into the sea. Oh. There was no quick way to retrieve it and it just floated there, taunting us. Out of reach.

We stood there, doubled up laughing, unable to move . Finally I yanked on one of the dry canoes as it was in the way, having forgotten that it was tied to one of ours, safely bobbing about. Dithering, some wise-spark yelled to get my shoes back on. In this way I could negotiate the rocks to retrieve the still-in-the-sea one's figurehead boots. Ah yes. She was getting impatient with my continuing hysterical giggles. We hauled one of the canoes ashore, and fished out the errant paddle. Finally everything was out, and bags were safe and dry.

Unlike my bum. I think at this point it resembled a prune. A salted one, with an extra sprinkling of salt.

We retired to our favourite bar, hot, sweaty, wet and the older man laughed at my mokra guzica... With this hilarity in mind, I had to attend my company's annual meeting. So it was a very swift beer before heading back to make myself respectable and serious. Work over, I rejoined the sunny one, and was more than ready for the goat pekar. Kakve dan je bio!!

Up the creek with a paddle.

The plan.

Go to town. Get cash. Hire a pair of kayaks. Try not to drown. Eat goat.

So, confession time. It's really difficult writing about things that have happened a few days ago, especially when the most reliable dataz is in the Mali Raj. Where there iz booze. The confession is I got my days wrong, we didn't have goat last night, it was something that would happen tonight. How could I forget that? Easy... Airhead.

Anyhoo. Kayaks.

The last time I was in a kayak was for Missy's birthday two years ago. Now that was a fab day. Getting up at how early and then borrowing some of Marija's kayaks to head to Lopud for tea and doughnuts. All before returning before the fee paying tourists turned up. Amazingly I didn't write about the night before at the time. Maybe one best kept for my posthumous memoirs. All I'll say is that rumours of me dancing in Teo's bar in my nightie are entirely true...

The walking was definitely getting easier, though I still arrived in Pomena looking a little like somebody had thrown a bucket of water over me. It's never good being a fat lass. Funds secured we headed back to Babine Kuće. Our intention was to hire from our local favourite bar. The fact that it was our only bar was quite academic. As we approached I decided to nip back to base to collect my water bottle because I'm an idiot and I'd forgotten it earlier.

By the time I returned the nautical one was standing with two paddles and her best confused face. She wasn't sure where the kayaks were. Fortunately, in a rare moment of being observant, I'd noticed them earlier so off we trotted to chose our rides.

Yet again I was reminded that I really ought to get some of those whizzy shoes you can wear in water as frankly my Gore-Tex hiking boots weren't exactly the ideal thing for plodging. Which was why they were redeployed as a figure head on the newly named "VJS Old Boot". A fine vessel. Shame I hadn't noticed that I was sitting on a buckle. More on this later.

Missy paddled off like a duck to water as I faffed putting things in to a sealed bag. By the time I finally started moving I realised she was a duck to water that likes going backwards. I don't think she'd read the manual.

It really was a horrible way to spend the day.

What was also really horrible was that we kept having to share it with wasps. Quite why so many would be wandering around in the middle of a lake was utterly beyond me! Stupid creatures.

We vaguely paddled off in the general direction of Soline so that we could go under the lovely bridge and through the Solinski kanal - not a euphemism. Normally we would be taking many photographs but the constant swatting of the wasps made this a precarious thing to do. Every now and then we'd get a fabulous breeze which would make things difficult for wasps so there would be a little relief. Trouble was, it was also difficult for the dainty one, she'd given up fighting the breeze and was now a couple of hundred yards away. Oh. Bye!

We regrouped as the bridge loomed passing through in perfect formation, well, perfectish. With swatting. But it seemed to impress people on the banks. The good thing is we could now actually see the bottom. The Veliko Jezera is incredibly clear but also incredibly deep so it was quite a novelty. Unlike the wasps. Which weren't.

In the distance I could see something across the water which looked vaguely like an obstruction, as I approached I could see that it was actually navigable, you just had to do a couple of turns, a bit like the sort of thing you see on paths to stop cycles, only bigger. I at first presumed it was to stop vessels from entering the lakes, which to be honest seemed unlikely as the water was, well, rather shallow. Later I read that it's a mechanism to let rubbish leave the lakes but prevent stuff from getting back in.

Frightfully clever these Croatians.

As I turned I saw that the adventurous one had beached her kayak and was busy pull it higher on to land. It wasn't as I thought so we could go for refreshments at the bar we'd been to a few days earlier, but rather because she'd put her bag with water and phone out of reach in the stern of the boat. Daft mare.

But before I realised this I thought I'd also best beach the kayak only to find she'd discovered every wasp that we'd missed whilst out on the water. And they liked her so much. It was all a bit scary. He pushed me back so I could at least make a get away whilst she desperately tried to get going as quickly as possible. It was not going well.

Amazingly she was only stung the once.

We headed back. Passing under the bridge once more we saw the couple that she'd accosted the other night to share a ride to Sorba. I think they might have by now realised we were a bit mad. Better than being dull.

Somewhere on the Veliko Jezera we found a spot to just sit. Little breeze. No wasps. We nattered. I went to take a picture and saw the boss had messaged me on Skype so I replied and said I wouldn't be able to look at the problem just then as I was not in the best of places. Needless to say I then sent a picture of us on the lake.

I think he now hates me just that little bit more!

Paddling back was a mixture of wasps and no wasps, but still a lovely way to spend time, however we decided enough was enough, navigated back to shore and once we were out and the boats carefuly stowed we scampered off to Mali Raj for much needed refreshment.

Eventually my guilt kicked in so I scampered back to base to collect the iBastard and do a little work. The busy one was going to be working later anyway as she had a company meeting to attend - virtually - so it seemed like good timing.

She had a little time to play though, but one thing puzzled me, she kept wittering on about making herself look presentable. I really couldn't see what the problem was.

Well, okay, maybe her glasses were a little salty.

And her skin. And clothes. Actually, come to think of it, I could probably do with a rinse too.

Of course I didn't at all troll said boss with pictures of Hildebrand's Croatian office. That would have been mean...

As it turned out there wasn't a problem as such but it did highlight something else I need to do to prevent user generated issues. Now this is the point where most people express amazement that I'm working on what is most definitely a holiday. But this is normal, when things happen they have to be dealt with and if I don't I'd only worry about it all.

As the afternoon wore one I did two things, one was practice saying još jedan molim, probably the wrong thing to say, but I didn't have a handy polyglot to check with. And it's important to practice. The other was to write. I'm slowly getting back in to the swing of writing again though I'm still struggling to find my mojo.

As day drifted in to evening and the sun began to set Goaty McDinnerface made its appearance. Of course you will know this if you read yesterday's thrilling instalment, but this time it actually happened. And there were pictures. Brief ones as we positively stuffed our faces.

A meal so good it had to be blogged about twice.

I could have happily had it again, but, y'know, diet...

Now normally this would end with tales of late night cackling as just had one more. And then one on the house. But tonight we had to head to bed early. The ferry would be leaving at jeeeeeez o'clock from Sorba which meant our taxi would be arriving at 5am.

If the doesn't like getting up early one complains even once...

My kingdom for a loaf

This blog isn't going to make much sense. We are once more back in Mali Raj and it's Antonio's birthday. Antonio is the barman/waiter/goodness knows what else. He's lovely. As are all the staff here. They've just brought us cake, it must be true.

Back to the blogging. You might recall that yesterday missy had been out and found she couldn't get bread because, well, too late. Today though, she went with lashings of time. Trouble was, even though she asked in her best Croatian and was extremely polite, she received a very firm no. Oh dear.

Not to worry. There was a pekara in Polače. And that was only 2.4km away. OVER A BLOODY HIGH HILL. AND ROCKS. Did I mention the rocks? It must be said, there is nothing like a gentle 3 mile round trip over a BLOODY HIGH HILL to make you really appreciate your breakfast.

Nothing.

So I pulled my boots on and even though I was still aching from the walk back the night before, we headed off in search of bread. Now normally we'd make this ourselves, trouble was we had a distinct lack of oven and frankly that's a problem.

Bread and manic grin.

Again, obviously, I didn't complain about the walk over said hill, don't believe anything she says to the contrary. The good news is the pekara did a) open and b) have bread and c) would sell it to us.

It really doesn't get better than this.

Low aspirations? Maybe. Anyway, we headed back over the hill for breakfast. If you happen to be on Mljet I can thoroughly recommend the experience. Best done first thing before breakfast, or in the dark. Great fun.

We decided that as breakfast was done we needed to walk round the little lake and, for added excitement, we'd pop in to Pomena to hit the cash machine as, well, cash is a good idea here. Rather inevitably we scampered round the really difficult parts rather than use the easier paths. It's a matter of pride.

It was also rather civilised as it means you can mostly avoid people making things feel just that little bit more isolated. And it feels just a little more adventurous. The bonus was that I stumbled on some discarded sunglasses. Or lost. Well, stupid people, leave them in the woods and they will be recycled. And the glamorous one did need some new glasses.

In Pomena missy decided it would be a really good idea for us to to a place at the end of the front. She'd been there a couple of years before. When it was summer. You can imagine how that went...

...still the extra exercise is always appreciated. And we ended up back in the place we'd been in a couple of days before.

This time with extra wasps.

Questioning life's decisions.

Seriously, what is it with these stupid little feckers, do they actually like beer? Do they end up in it and think "ah, perfect, just what I wanted" or is it more a case of them questioning their life decisions and wondering whether the queen wasp will remember them as their life slips away. Or worse, after I extract them and demonstrate just how cross I am.

It wasn't pleasant. Not a single patron found it pleasant. We're just more belligerent.

Heading back the short way, though no less rocky and after the usual stop in Studenac for supplies, we even had to scamper past about a million kids that looked to be heading out way.

On the far side of the hill we saw a couple of ladies with bikes who seemed determined to carry them up the steps. The nice one warned them that said million kids were heading this way. I somehow forgot to mention that they'd passed the sign for the actual cycle path 200 yards before. To be fair I heard them say something about it probably being about the same.

Readers, they were about to be very disappointed.

Sure it's longer, but oh my goodness, it goes round the hill not over it! The moment passed and meandered back with the intention of going for a swim. As you do.

Of course having changed and set off I got to the first big drop in the path before realising that I needed Sticky Mc Stickface or I'd be in trouble. Irritating. By the time I caught up with the advanced party she was already splooshing around like she always does. This was apparently much to the disgust of a german couple. One that was even less impressed that she had a friend. Whatevs.

We'd decided the night before that Goaty McDinnerFace would be perfect for 7pm, so as it was nowhere near that we headed down to Mali Raj nice and early to do a little writing and watch the sun set. Which it did. I also checked in on "Swarm" and saw a comment about there being "nothing good here". What utter bollocks. This place is brilliant. And the baby goat when it was served up? Brilliant. Honestly, if you're ever on Mljet head to Babine Kuće and the joys of Mali Raj. If you are lovely to them they will be lovely to you. Simple really.

It was at some point during the evening that we heard a couple talking about going to Šipan and asking the waiter (Antonio) how best to get to the ferry at you-are-kidding-me o'clock. He picked up his phone, called his mate and arranged a ride. The luggy one heard this and we quickly agreed that the theoretical trip there should be a reality so she danced over, introduced herself and the deal was struck, we'd go halves on the fee. Once Antonio sorted it with his mate.

Perfect. And just the sort of thing you'd expect in a decent place. So there.

All in all a thoroughly acceptable day. And tomorrow? Kayaks...

No more tears - just the science of coming home

There's a thing. Mljet is a relatively easy place to get to and from...as long as you start or end in Dubrovnik, Split... or Šipan. There was a vague purpose for spending time on Mljet in the first place because all hearts must mend eventually. And it has been amazing to be here finally feeling happy and whole. In a reversal, I wondered whether it would be wise to pay a visit to my old home in Suđurađ.

When I left there in April 2017 it felt slightly bittersweet with an air of finality. Home was still home, but was no longer; I'd sadly moved on. The moment we landed in Šipanska Luka at a ridiculously early time, I had an air of melancholy unreality. Happily I must have made quite an impression during my time here, because familiar faces turned from polite disinterest to genuine recognition - in moments. This made me feel quite tearful, in a way I rarely feel.

This two faced place never fails to amaze me; despite the near end of the summer season the many pleasure boats continue to pour in, and the opportunity for people spotting is endless. On the other hand, the icy walk through the polje this morning demonstrated the beating agricultural heart of the island. Cows were being tended to; grape pomace lies in heady heaps; fattened cabbages await winter pulling; and the olives are well on the way to being ready.

Enjoying the coffee and soaking up the early morning sunshine in Teo's bar was very pleasant - watching the village come awake is a simple pleasure. Eventually hunger drove us to picnic snacks on my nearest favourite beach. There are so few people there; people from the pleasure boats either don't have the time, or the inclination to stray out of the village. Which means they miss the actual life going on but as the companioning one knows, I have very little to say about idiot tourists.*

<insert your own melancholic shit here>

Having made myself all melancholy (shit happens), my amazing friend Marija invited us to see her family and have a taste of the rakija and wine making process. Now as you all know, science and history thereof is my life and the very best outcome of science is the stuff you can eat and drink. What is cake making, if it in't science? Anyway, much of what I have enjoyed exploring is alchemy... So to see an actual still in action is pretty much renaissance science in motion.

Fascinated, I watched as the deep purple 'waste' grape material was put into a large lidded metal container and sealed with water around the top. The dried garden herbs had been carefully chopped and layered; mint and fennel were the secret ingredients here. The stove underneath was stoked to cook the mix, and we sat back to fuss the cat who was thoroughly enjoying the warmth. The smoke unfurled into the olives above and we sipped our wine and munched on home smoked bacon.

Next door's sheep popped by unexpectedly and there were shouts of ide, brzo, 'cha... and mint sauce, lamb chop! I'll leave you to sort out who said what.

The fumes from the fruit and herbs headed upwards in to a metal tube; then went through a coil to be

cooled and condensed. The tiny precious drops fell like tears into a hanky... to be collected in to a saucepan. As it filled, it was occasionally emptied into a large round flask and the odd finger managed to sneak in and test the strength. Each batch would start strong, and then mellow and dilute. The art is to mix them to ensure consistency...and presumably avoid blindness or brain damage.

Also it's getting dark and what the heck is happening in here?

It was like magic if you can imagine a life surrounded by grape fumes, goats, and pine wood smoke. It reminded me of all I had left on the island. And I have never felt so sad about returning to tech, East London and the world outside. 

And on that melancholic note, let me remind you we are currently being serenaded by Antonio and his friends. Karaoke Mljet style.That is to say all is well in the world, and there has been birthday cake.



















*the water in the lakes is NOT brackish ffs.

Best foot forward

We were going to get up really early. We really didn't.

We'd been told on arrival that we could buy bread from a van in the village and that it would arrive around 9:30. The hungry one scampered off to fetch bread, eventually returning with a sad face, it turned out the van had arrived much earlier it being out of season and clearly the memo hadn't been read by our lovely hosts. But fear not, she twinkled at the people in the restaurant which meant we managed to get bread and our delicious continental breakfast was on!

We'd need it to power us through the day ahead. Or something like that. The vague plan was a walk round the lake then a simple afternoon writing.

You know how much we like sticking to plans.

Today I would break out the walking boots I'd brought with me, given I'd already test walked the paths in ballet pumps this seemed like a sensible idea. I also elected to go with jeggings as I really didn't want to be scratched to death. That was a rare sensible face.

It was almost 10am by the time we rolled out, me looking looking like Lara Crofts older fatter sister, the dainty one looking, well, dainty. We were ready for a serious stomp.

Which lasted all of 20 yards. We both had a bad case of newplaceitis, a fatal condition that leads to inevitable wows, squeals and gazing upon new sights. Hopeless. I was particularly taken with the way that locals used ingenuity and a keen eye to make use of whatever materials were to be found laying about, I'd seen this the day before with small tree trunks, or very straight branches, being used to provide tying points for boats. Today though it was resting places for boats made with just a few trunks to minimise resistance whilst making sure they didn't sit in water, but my favourite was the fencing made with carefully chosen branches. Perfect.

What was less perfect was my knees, I realised quite quickly that as I was falling apart I needed a walking stick to allow me to control ascent and descent. Simple, we were surrounded by sticks, how hard can this be? After a number of regular stops to find something good enough the helpful one asked what I was looking for. A stick I said, but nothing so far that's suitable. Oh, like this one?

I can really go off people.

I was also pleased, yes it was just the right length, had a wee fork at the end and wouldn't take too much effort to remove small branches. Ace. Needless to say we didn't ask Twitter to name it and instead saved time by declaring it Sticky McStickface.

Now able to move with more ease we marched on. The seemingly endless green and blue

accompanied by the sun twinkling at us with the water was so lovely. But progress really wasn't great, not that this mattered, it wasn't a race. If we'd wanted to go quickly go could have made our way up the bank a little to a narrow road and scampered along. But where's the fun in that?

Every now and then I would see red markings on rocks that seemed to indicate we were on the Central Line. It just didn't smell quite like it. This belief was reinforced as we reached an interchange with the Circle Line. We might have been hooting with laughter at the thought.

As we approached the perfect little bridge that crossed the channel at the end of the lake we made a decision, we'd go for coffee in Soline. And when I say coffee I meant pivo. Obvs.  Soline is a bit of an interesting place. Sure it's tiny and has a bar which is in itself usually enough to make anywhere interesting. Actually, large and bar is interesting too. Maybe I just like bars.

I digress.

Monk studying the bible. Maybe

Apparently the Benedictines first waltzed in to the place around 1151 in search of somewhere to build a monastery, more on this later. They also filled the natural (read rocky as everything here is rocky) pools which of course would evaporate leaving salt, perfect for y'actual chips guvvnor. Mind you, I don't think they had chips then. Dark ages, dark, dark, dark. Probably better for the diet.

I digress again.

Hence the name. Running past the place in to Veliko Jezero (remember, Big Lake) is the Solinski Kanal, again more on this later. One of the most obvious things is that there is one hell of a water flow as the tides turn because it's really not very wide at all and the Big Lake is, well, big. Engineering 101, wide area in to small equals high pressure. Just the thing for driving mills and oddly enough there was a mill there at one point.

I was slightly disappointed to observe that a tidal generator hadn't been put in as this is the perfect location for placing one, but, to be fair, it would look a bit poo on the tourists brochures. The last thing of note, other than the fact that the Pivo was suitably cold and the wasps were unsuitably bastardly, was that until 1825 the place was uninhabited. Seems unlikely, it was now 12:08 and we were definitely in residence.

After a natter and swatting a few wasps we headed off once more we were off again. We ambled down the road a little heading towards the bridge and stopped for a moment to ponder just why there was a basketball hoop on the side of the road. Or maybe it was netball. Either way, they key thing here is: Side. Of. The. Road. Admittedly we hadn't seen many cars so I imagine it was a little like playing in the streets in the 70's.

It has to be said, this was nothing like the street of my youth. Pretty didn't cover it and the colours were endlessly fabulous.

As we crossed the perfectly arched bridge I managed to resist a game of Pooh Sticks. It just didn't seem right to drop a twig in the clear glinting waters below. We continued marching on.

To our right the Monastery of St Mary become increasingly obvious. As did the seemingly endless chug of boats chugging across the lake towards it laden down with tourists. I'm sure that Crkva Sv. Marije is worth seeing but my inner aversion to people complaining about *old things being so old was kicking in.

The place was certainly within easy swimming distance so one could sneak over, but I'm not sure whether my dripping swimsuit would be considered suitable attire.

Actually, for that matter, I wasn't sure whether this was a working monastery or if it had merely become a tourist trap. More research needed.

Take a fleg.

A little further round and we came across something that made me change my mind. I saw a small boat and two people were climbing in. As we got closer we could see that it was a thing, if you take a fleg and wave it then you get a boat. What's not to like? Fleg. Boat. Food. Not sure we would be able to fit it in but it sounds like a giggle.

On the subject of linguistic awkwardness. I did learn from the polyglot one that when pizza first arrived in Croatia it made people blush. Because it sounds like pićka... Let's just say my former flatmate would be shocked that I used such language in a blog post.

As we marched on it became increasingly difficult to remain furkling in the undergrowth so we largely stuck with the road, which is a little less interesting, but an awful lot faster. We were now strolling along at almost full London speed of somewhere over 4mph.

This might have been helped by the idea of the culinary one taking the leftovers from the previous night's meal, adding a few croutons made with olive oil and the remains of the hard-to-get bread from breakfast.

Sounded like a plan.

And then... We would swim! Obviously after we'd sat around for an hour or so. We'd found a couple of fairly perfect looking spots on our earlier walk, both of which within maybe ten minutes of our apartment. The water was glorious. The breeze light with occasional gusts of brrrrrrr. The delicate one was the first to break, I was fine, I just had to keep an eye out for any passing whaling ships.

For normal people the return to base after a long walk and cold swim would be a cheeky nap. We had a cup of tea and as we needed supplies we decided to head over the hill to Studenac in Polače. Now the dainty one kept laughing at me as I passed occasional comment on how much my body was now objecting. Yes I appreciate the "old way" wasn't over a mountain, but it was still very steep, we went from sea level to about 216' and back again in 2.4km. Not horrendous, but it is if you're seriously out of shape because you weren't allowed to exercise on medical grounds. And it was rocky. To be fair, everywhere is rocky. Even the **water is rocky. This apparently is what gives it the distinct whitish colour.

Bura clearly still meant it. My hair was telling me this so I didn't see much. But were were both aware of the smell of smoke presumably emanating from Pelješac. There was a Bura driven wild fire there and judging by the thickness of the smoke in the air it was quite devasting.

Still, the remains of the Roman villa were suitably impressive and as we meandered down the middle of the island main road (the 120, there aren't any others with numbers) we pondered about the difference between Pomena, Babine Kuće and Polače. All quite different. This felt more touristy. More out of season even. Great Yarmouth but with fewer amusements, more bike higher and a glorious sunset. Not Great Yarmouth then. You get the idea though.

The good news was not only did we find the Studenac, we also found a pekara! Huzzah. We didn't realised how important this would be at this point. Anyhoo, along we wandered, and then we wandered back. The highlight was passing a slightly dilapidated Ford Taunus TC, quite the thing in it's day and just that little more glamorous than a Cortina.

Not that this takes much.

We decided we should have a quick drink before heading back over the mountain so it after careful consideration (read: the first place that looked open) we sat outside the Calypso. A fine establishment. With beer supplied we proceeded to natter, look at videos of the fires and generally enjoy the craziness of a bar next to the main road. At one point there where TWO CARS going in opposite directions. It was quite mad. At some point the ***sensible one scampered off to check when the Studenac closed.

Of course as we are of a certain age we eventually moved inside to continue cackling. Inevitably as we went to pay up and leave we confused the hell out of everyone. But that's okay. It has to be said, the Studenac in Polače isn't great. Or at least not as good as the one in Pomena. But the ***sensible one managed to find good things to eat whilst I avoided looking at everything that was more than just vaguely dirty. Which is a win.

Walking back was interesting. Not only had my 51 year old hips decided that they'd rather be sat in a bar not moving, but my 51 year old muscles were definitely not singing the popular song by The Proclaimers. And we still had to go over the hill. In the dark. On rocky paths

I almost never complained.

On the plus side there was dirty sausage and cheesy snacks. Oh and winez. So all in all it wasn't a bad deal. And whilst it really is quite a steep hill it did mean I'd burned off my food before I had it. Maybe.

The evening ended, rather inevitably, in Mali Raj. Which to honest is about the best place to end and evening. Especially as we ordered dinner for the following evening... Poor baby goat!

* I was writing this in our usual drinking hole in Babine Kuće, the wandering one turned up and proceeded to tell me about a group of English tourists that she overheard saying "it's not as charming as in the brochures". I rest my case.
** Apparently, according the same group, the water was brackish. It so was not. The water evaporates which means it's decidedly more saline than the sea. It's a thing. You should see the state of my swimming costume after coming out of the water and it drying, Monica Lewinski would have been shocked.

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